


Like bad wine

by Kaydalen



Series: From crows, griffons and other birds [1]
Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/F, Light Angst, Post-Dragon Age: Origins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-14
Updated: 2018-05-14
Packaged: 2019-05-07 02:33:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14661528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaydalen/pseuds/Kaydalen
Summary: "I'm in Orlais. Weather is awful, just like the cheese. And the wine. And the people. I miss Ferelden. I miss you. Mission is reaching its end, but there are still some questions I haven't found an answer to yet. Some loose ends.Stay strong, my love, I know you can make it.P.S. I can hear the Calling."10 years after the blight had ended, 5 years since they had to part ways. Leliana is devoting herself completely to the Inquistion and not able to find a cure for the taint consuming her, the Hero of Ferelden has got a hard time moving on.





	Like bad wine

The Warden opened her eyes and the memories faded. Flickered just for a few moments on the lids, as she had to blink rapidly, because the bright shine of the fire was blinding her.  
They were comforting memories. Of red hair, a cheerful laugh, a lovely accent and this voice that made her shiver all over, whenever it purred her name.  
Sparks scattered, as a broad branch bursted within the blaze, danced away towards the sky. The wind was chilly, though not icy yet. But it got colder with every mile she closed in on the Ferelden border.  
Lost in thoughts the Warden raised the wineskin towards her lips and took a sip. The brewage ran burning hot down her throat, nearly seared her gums and she surpressed a cough, a gag. The pain reminded her that she was still alive.

  
While she had been traveling through Orlais she had paid Val Royeraux a quick visit to restock. On the market a merchant had caught her eye which stood out clearly besides the common farmers and blacksmiths, who didn't differ much from their unrefined comrades in Ferelden – even if they would never admit that -. He was selling all kinds of fancy liquor.  
The nobles had gathered around him, women chatting and giggling, men demanding samples. The Warden had pushed past mountains of fabric belonging to way too large and bulky dresses, until she reached the front row. When the merchant had spottet her he opened up his arms wide and announced a Grey Warden was always welcome and he would offer his wares at cost.  
At first she hadn't wanted to push her luck, but then she decided after all to let him know she wasn't only a Grey Warden, but the Hero of Ferelden as well and now he wasn't the only one eager to shake her hand and the nobles around her, who had been protesting just now that she had been cutting in line, wouldn't stop bombarding her with questions.  
The Wardens thoughts traveled back to the camp fire, as she choked on the spicy brewage with the bitter aftertaste and some of the red liquid found it's way back up her throat, spilled over her lips and painted dark circles on the grass free soil.

  
With a wrinkled nose and a furrowed brow she wiped her mouth clean, trapped the remains of her drink in the wineskin and shoved it back in the inner pockets of her coat.  
She really hated this stuff. It burned her throat and gums mercilessly and it twisted the insides of her stomach whenever she took as much as a gulp. But she forced herself to drink it anyway, she didn't have another choice. It had been decided for her, it was demanded from her.  
She was demanded to incinerate, to turn her enemies stomach, to spill blood for the cause, even if it had to be her own. She was supposed to leave a buzz, to wash away old worries and close the publics eyes from any new ones.  
But at one point they would forget about her. At one point clarity would follow the jag and they would realize the bottle had been shattered. That they had cut themselves on broken glass.  
At first a shield, from worries and agony, now a scapegoat for the blood and the headache and the problems rising from the horizon, covering the sun.  
The bottle would be drained and empty. Its contains and strength would be gone, sitting in the peoples stomachs, forgotten, without meaning.

  
The Warden hadn't realized that she had clenched her fists. They were shaking, knuckles turning white. She didn't feel any pain worth mentioning, but could spot warm blood oozing from inbetween her right hands fingertips.  
„Damn Grey Wardens“, she blurted out in anger and couldn't tell herself if she was cursing the wine, her comrades that had gone insane or herself.  
Maybe all three of them.  
She cursed the wine for misleading her with its fancy title that had drawn her to it.  
She cursed her comrades for following a Commander gone insane, who had eventually dragged them into the dark pit of madness with her and in the arms of a demon. Like a shepherd with a blindfold who was offering his sheeps on a slaughtering block.  
And she was cursing herself, because .. yes, why? Because she hadn't been there to stop it? Because she was still wandering around aimlessly? Because she was telling herself and everyone who was asking that she was still looking for a solution, a cure, while in fact she was just as terrified and clueless as any other Grey Warden?  
She was hearing the voices. Louder than ever before. They could be caused by Corypheus, who was aiming to drive her insane like any other Warden. Or they could be real and this fueled more fear in her than anything else.  
There was no cure for her condition. The Calling would come. If not today, then maybe tomorrow. Next week, next year. Maybe the next decade, if she was lucky. But the Calling would find her, one way or another. Sneak up on her like a predator when she would least expect it, drive its claws into her and drag her down with it into the void that even had a name; The deep roads of Orzammar.  
Bitterly the Warden curled her lips to a smile, pulled out her wineskin for the second time and opened the fastening.

  
„To the Grey Wardens“, she said cheers to an imaginary person in front of her, on the other side of the dancing flames, set the wineskin on her lips and gulped down nearly all the remains of the red liquor.  
Her bold move caused her to spill the whole contains of her stomach on the forrests soil and she was forced to catch her breath, coughed, gagged, snorted, wiped with her free hand her mouth and chin clean.  
Besides her own pathetic gagging noises and the calming crackling of the fire, the glade she had decided was a good place to rest, was dead silent. Slowly she dragged herself away from the mess she had made on the ground in front of her and was looking for a cleaner and nicer spot around the fire. She didn't even own a tent anymore and was traveling with nothing more than a few thick blankets and enough Sovereigns to rent a room for a night once in a while or order a warm meal.

  
While she just had decided with gritted teeth and an iron will that she would empty her wineskin completely, she noticed a movement in the shadows and froze stiff. It hadn't been more than just a flinch. Nothing more than a cracking of a branch, the whispering of leaves. A faceless shape was sneaking around, melded with the darkness that gladly embraced and protected it.  
The Warden smirked, leaned back and combed her messy hair with her fingers, that had once been short, cleanly cut and cared for, but meanwhile flooded over her shoulders and hadn't been in contact with water or soap in quite a while.  
„Don't be shy“, she raised her voice, „Come on, join me by the fire. I have .. wine.“  
Silence. Nothing was moving anymore, but she didn't get an answer either.  
„Do you still believe I'm not aware you are following me?“, she asked, „You did a good job, don't worry, she will not hear about this. At least not from me.“  
„I'm sorry, my Lady.“  
A shape peeled off the shadows. A young elf with hair as dark as tar that he had braided into a tail. His features were soft, he might as well could have been a woman. His glance was alert, as sharp as an edge. He was dressed in a camouflage leather armor, thin, but fitting for this form. It allowed him to move the way he did; gracefully, like a cat, silent. It was puzzling why he slipped up and exposed himself to her like that. Just like he wanted to be caught.  
On his chest flaunted the Inquisitions eye.

  
„There is no reason to apologize.“  
The Warden waved him closer, ordered him to sit.  
„I would rather have to apologize for my sorry state.“  
The elf sat down cross-legged on the dry ground only a few feet away from her. The fires flames casted dark shadows on his face, the metal of his blade flashed for a second.  
„What's your name?“  
„Sparrow.“  
The Warden escaped an amused snort and a grin crept up her lips. Now she was already sending her agents with the special names. The Spymaster had probably declared her whole common staff incompetent and embarassingly enough it was her fault. Over and over again she had exposed humans, elves and dwarfes, who had been set to observe her, track her movements and over and over again she had sent them back home with a mischievous note and a pretty gift for the Nightingale.  
„I beg your pardon“, the elf apologized again, „But the Nightingales orders were clear. She isn't very happy about your .. involvement.“  
„All an act“, the Warden declared, „Hard shell, soft core. Underneath this dark mask of hers there's a good heart. Her words may be rough sometimes, but she would never actually harm any of you.“  
Or at least that would have been true for the Leliana she had the pleasure to get to know back then. She didn't know if her principles had actually changed over the years.

  
Years.

  
Her stomach turned painfully when she reminded herself that it had been five years since the both of them had last seen each other. She could barely remember her smell, her touch.  
„You seem to know her pretty well“, Sparrow noticed and examined the warden with flagrant curiosity. Leliana probably didn't tell him more about the contract than necessary.  
„We have traveled together .. for a while.“  
Lost in thoughts her fingers trailed the screw-cap of her wineskin. He should know why her love send him to tail her, but didn't feel like sharing too many details. Like the information would lose their worth when being spread too far. The scarce amount of privacy the Nightingale and the Grey Warden still had she wouldn't want to give up for anything.  
„We are still close“, the Warden decided to share. He was the first of her spies to show any real interest in his mission. The others had been very quick to leave and if she hadn't stopped them to stuff a message and gift in their pockets she wouldn't even have seen their faces once up close most of the time. But Sparrow was different. Calmly he sat by the fire, warming his fingers, glancing in his targets directions curiously once in a while.

  
„I guess she just doesn't want me messing around“, the Warden Commander grinned and shrugged, „Without her.“  
To lighten the mood she raised her wineskin and offered it to her temporary company. Only now she realized her face and ears were basically glowing, her arm shaking. The wine was undeniably horrible, but it didn't fail to leave an impact. It slowly expanded, made her feel warm and comfortable on the inside. Her blood flowed through her veins like hot wax. It fogged her thoughts, dazed her desire, her pain. Dazed the Darkspawns voices inside her head.  
Sparrow eyed the wineskin warily, raised his brows.  
„Is this brewage really that horrible or do you just have a sensitive stomach .. my Lady?“  
„What a rude assumption“, the Warden snorted when she spy eventually took what she offered off her hands, removed the cap and smirked when he took a gulp.  
She bursted out laughing as he was suffering the aftermath of the drink as well and his eyes nearly popped out of their sockets as he was trying to keep his composure and not throw up on the spot. With tons of self-control he choked down the liquid and the tips of his ears started to glow.  
„Interesting .. choice“, he coughed and handed the wineskin back, while feeling for his throat like he could stop the burning that way.  
„It's called 'Grey Warden'“, the Warden informed him bitterly and pulled out a piece of parchment, an unkempt feather and a neatly sealed inkpot out of the depths of her midsized bag, „What an irony, am I right? With a name like that it should actually taste like .. mint of something.“  
She unrolled the parchment on the rough ground, opened up the inkpot, drowned the tip of her feather into it and started writing a message for Leliana. Just a few lines, nothing fany. Like everytime when she caught one of her spies she had sent out to tail her.

  
And like all the other times she couldn't let the opportunity pass and stated how much she loved and missed her, before reaching the unpleasant part of her letter. It was difficult to find the right words. She wasn't dead certain herself, but she had the right to know. To eventually prepare herself emotionally.  
In big fancy letters she signed with her first name, blew the ink dry and rolled up the parchment as she was done. Again she dipped her hand between her belongigs and pulled something out. Carefully, gently.  
Curiously Sparrow watched her entangling the stalks of two flowers, used them to tie a knot around her letter to preserve the shape. White blossoms emitted a pleasant smell.

  
Andrastes Grace.

  
She drowned in the smell, closed her eyes for a split second and felt like experiencing a time travel. Voices, sparkling eyes, a laugh, breath tingling the hair on her neck, a warm body and lips.  
Desire. Hands pinned her own above her head.  
Breath and words hitched in her throat.  
The Wardens eyes snapped open as the hot wine in her bloodstream was demanding her attention, left her body swaying and jittery, she licked her lips and had a hard time staying upright.  
She handed her present over to the elf watching her.  
„Please, give this to the Nightingale for me, will you?“, she asked, noticed surprised as well as embarassed that her voice was slurring a little, „Tell her .. Tell her ..“  
The Warden opened her mouth, silently struggled for words that were on the tip of her tongue and then again not anymore.

  
„No, nevermind“, she managed to blurt out, „I will tell her myself.“

  
Sparrow took the parchment silently and raised to his feet.  
„You're leaving me already?“, she grinned, „How very tragic. And here I thought you would help me with my drink.“  
„There is a long road ahead, my Lady“, the Elf replied, tucked the Hero of Fereldens message away in one of his many pockets, took care not to damage the delicate flowers.  
„Maker be with you.“  
„And with you.“  
With these last words Sparrow turned on his heels, catlike, fell into a quick pace and the Warden couldn't tear her eyes away in flagrant fascination until he reached the edge of the forrest. Easily he leaped up the next tree, clinging to a branch with just one hand and she was sure he was about to be embraced by the shadows again and disappear just as silent as he had made his entrance, but he froze in his movements and turned around one last time. His eyes were glowing in the darkness.  
„It is a good thing the wine doesn't taste like mint“, he commented, leaped forward and the gloom swallowed him whole.  
For some time the vigilant listener could hear branches cracking and trees creaking in protest until the silence caught up to her again.  
Mute and dazed from wine and memories pounding at the doors of her mind she uncapped her wineskin for the third time this night poured the poor remains of her brewage out right beside her, bitterly watched it trickle into the soil.

Weeks and miles away from from this place Lelianas eyes scanned the words on the parchment and with every line her fear was swelling as well as her longing.  
Her anger.  
She couldn't believe she caught one of her spies _again_ and just send him back to her like it was nothing. Why wouldn't she understand that she was trying to protect her? To keep an eye on her?  
She refused to let the tears flow, as her gaze roamed over the letters and words on the parchment again.  
The Wardens handwriting had lost its spark like it was hard for her to remember how the words were supposed to look like. The characters were narrow and some of them hard to make out – besides her signature. The first letters Leliana had received had read like reports, which hadn't been very pleasant, but at least had kept her updated on her status.  
Nowadays she wasn't talking about her mission or whereabouts more than neccessary. It was lovely, in a way, but troubling.

_Dear Leliana, my Nightingale,_

_I'm in Orlais. Weather is awful, just like the cheese. And the wine. And the people. I miss Ferelden. I miss you. Mission is reaching its end, but there are still some questions I haven't found an answer to yet. Some loose ends._  
_Stay strong, my love, I know you can make it._  
_I love you._

_Olivia_

_P.S. I can hear the Calling_

Tears dropped on the parchment, Lelianas body was shaking barely noticable and she covered her mouth to muffle the sobs daring to escape her, as she repeated this last sentence in her head over and over.  
The delicate flowers behind her ear had already been limp at arrival.

On the Ferelden border the Warden was taking in the fresh morning air, until she was covering her face with the hood of her blue coat again.  
Hid the ugly purple patches on her skin, her face.  
Hid the dark circles beneath her eyes, the blue threads spreading over her neck, collarbone, her jaw like a spidersweb, its origin her artery.  
The only thing she couldn't hide was the pain. The pain which was pounding mercilessly so that she would never forget it's presence.  
With a wailing sound ringing in her ears, solely heard by her and no one else, she proceeded her journey towards Skyhold.


End file.
